“One’s my sister, and the other is her friend with contact lens problems.” Pat answered. He shrugged at Javier’s mom. “Sorry. They needed to use your bathroom, Mrs. Ávila.”
“Oh, goodness! Anyone can use our bathroom. I just wish it was cleaner. I’ll start doing some cleaning tomorrow. We’re having a big party next week for Javier’s birthday,” his mom replied. She turned to Pat and asked about his grandmother. Had she lived in the neighborhood a long time? Where was her house? Then the girls came back into the room, and more introductions were made. His mom asked the girls which school they attended. She asked Feliz where she bought her sandals. She asked Brittany about her contact lenses. She questioned Pat again, “How do you like your new teachers this year?”
After an embarrassed sigh, Javier said, “Mom, we need to go. I promised Andy and Ignacio I’d be there for the pre-game concert.”
“Who’s driving tonight?” Javier’s mom asked as she walked them to the door.
“Feliz is driving,” Javier told her and prayed she wouldn’t start with more questions. “She’s given me a ride home before, and it’s still daylight outside.”
“Do you know where the stadium is?” she asked Feliz.
The girl frowned. “Uh, yeah, it’s at the school. I know where that is.”
“We need to go!” Javier repeated and opened the front door. “Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad.”
“Javier, will you call me if you need a ride home? And be sure to thank Mrs. Berlanga for letting you stay over,” his mom added. “Do you have some ‘goody clothes’? Do you need any money? Did you remember your allergy pills?”
Javier wanted to plop his sleeping bag over his head. He just nodded and felt grateful his parents didn’t follow him out to the porch.
The girls giggled all the way down the sidewalk. Javier knew they were laughing at him.
“Gosh, my parents!” Javier said to no one in particular. “Could my mom get any more embarrassing?” He fumbled with the sleeping bag, almost dropping it. Pat caught it and swung it under his arm.
“Your mom’s nice.” Pat smiled at Javier. “I know a lot of guys who’d love to have a mom like yours.”
“Not unless they like to be interrogated every day by the Mom’s Bureau of Investigations,” Javier replied.
The football game was a disappointment in every way. As soon as they arrived, Feliz and Brittany ran off with their girlfriends to the other side of the stadium. The half-time show was canceled after a man in the stands complained of chest pains. Two police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance blocked the holding area where the band members and flag leaders waited to go on the field. Then the team from St. Gabriel’s trampled across the Guardians, leaving no chance for a touchdown. The final score was 21–0. The only good thing was that Feliz’s scary driving didn’t kill any of them going to or from the stadium.
After the game, she drove a long time down the interstate. Pat and Javier had seen almost half the movie on the backseat monitors when Feliz finally exited and drove toward a gated community outside the city limits. The winding streets led from hillsides to cul-de-sacs, with a variety of two- and three-story homes and carefully crafted lawns and gardens.
Javier recognized the neighborhood immediately as one where his father’s company had built houses. He remembered many summer nights when his father would drive Javier and his mom to a new subdivision in the city and proudly show them what Ávila Construction had built. Once Javier had asked his dad, “Why don’t we live in one of these beautiful houses?” and his father said, “We live in a house built by my grandfather. Nothing is more beautiful, Son … nothing.”
Finally, Feliz drove onto a cement path and parked in front of a three-car garage. Javier got out and stared at a modern palace with stone columns and large windows. The girls ran ahead while Pat and Javier took his things from the car. The guys walked up thick granite steps to the open front doors, illuminated by a pair of ornamental lanterns. The girls had rushed up the winding staircase that filled the entryway like a grand waterfall. The rooms had high ceilings, and all the furniture was perfectly matched, but Javier thought he had walked into an exclusive store, not somebody’s home.
“Are you hungry?” Pat asked. He left Javier’s sleeping bag on the first stair. “Let’s see what’s in the fridge.”
Javier put down his gym bag and followed Pat behind the stairs, through a narrow door, and into a large kitchen. Every appliance was polished chrome, and the cabinets were painted with bright shades of turquoise and brown. A variety of painted clay bowls decorated the countertops and the narrow wooden table with six chairs near the windows. He had never seen such a bare kitchen. Didn’t anyone cook or eat in there?
Pat opened up one side door of the tall chrome refrigerator. “Ugh! Way too much diet soda, tofu, and brown rice. But I do see bread, cheese, and—” He paused and unwrapped something in aluminum foil. “Bingo! We got turkey. Want a sandwich?”
“Sure,” Javier said. He joined Pat and helped pull out from the refrigerator what they needed for sandwiches. “Man, it’s too bad about the game. I’m going to hate announcing the score on Monday morning.”
“Even worse, we have to sit in a classroom with angry football players all week.” Pat squirted brown mustard on bread. “Poor Dylan and Omar. The defense just ran all over them. And Ram? Whoa! Did he eat dirt all night or what?”
“I feel bad for Ignacio and Andy. I know the band guys practiced their feet off. Lousy breaks for everyone. Too bad about the guy with the heart attack.” Javier reached for two slices of bread. “I wonder who he was.”
They talked about ways to word Monday’s broadcast in a more positive way as they finished making the sandwiches. Pat found two regular sodas in a small refrigerator under the sink and led the way up to his bedroom.
With such thick carpeting, Javier couldn’t even hear their footsteps. “Where are your parents?” he asked as they reached the top of the stairs.
Pat shrugged. “Mom’s probably in her room reading or sleeping. My dad goes to a lot of meetings. People are always asking him to be on the board of this or that club. He eats it up, that whole big-shot personality.”
Javier glanced around at his surroundings and felt a strange chill down his back. He couldn’t even sense the presence of Feliz and Brittany in the house—the place was that big and felt that empty.
Pat’s room, however, had the lived-in comfort of messy and junky. His double bed was neatly made, but there were magazines on the floor, game cartridges and movie cases scattered on the desk, and his school clothes piled up near the closet. The shelves above his computer were filled with books, CD cases, and picture frames in no special order. Sports posters lined one wall, and across the room were several movie posters. It took a moment before Javier realized that every one of them had an autograph of someone famous across the bottom. They ate sandwiches, finished up a bag of chips Pat had hidden under the bed, watched a movie, and fell asleep sometime after midnight.
When Javier opened his eyes and remembered where he was, it worried him that Pat, who could fall asleep so easily in class, might not want to wake up on a Saturday morning. Luckily, Pat murmured, “Hey, you hungry?”
Javier reached for his backpack. If there weren’t two pretty girls in the house, he would stay in the clothes he had slept in. He pulled out a green T-shirt and some old shorts.
“You did bring some clothes you can paint in, didn’t you?” Pat said, rising up on one elbow to watch him.
“Yeah, I did. I grabbed them from the box my mom calls ‘goody clothes’. Comes from a mispronunciation my big brother Eric used when he was a kid … never mind. I can’t explain it without sounding stupid.” He sat up. “Basically, it’s a box where we toss worn-out T-shirts that can be still be used for dirty jobs. It comes in handy if your family is in the construction business.”
“Do you get to build stuff?” Pat asked. He sat up and kicked his sheet off.
“Not me,” Javier said, shaking his he
ad. “My job is washing the company trucks or sweeping the job site. Nobody trusts me with tools. I’m a klutz.” His face grew warm as he realized what he had said. He quickly started to fold up his sleeping bag.
“So, what kind of things does your dad build?”
Javier felt proud to say, “Big fancy houses like yours.”
“No way!” Pat’s face opened up with surprise. “Did your dad build our house?”
“He built many of the houses out here. I’d have to ask him.”
“That’s impressive, Jack. Wait ‘til I tell my dad.”
When they came downstairs, Javier found it odd not to smell food cooking. His mother always fixed a big breakfast on Saturdays, and it was normal to find his two brothers with some of their kids eating at the table.
They walked toward the kitchen, and the aroma of coffee hinted that someone else was awake. At the table by the kitchen windows sat a woman in a flowing purple robe decorated with swirls of colors. She had short, curly hair and dark skin and when she looked up from the newspaper she was reading, Javier could tell immediately it was Pat’s mom. They had the same dark eyes and high forehead.
“Hey, Mom, this is Javier. He’s going to help me with a school project,” Pat said by way of an introduction. “Do we have any breakfast?”
She nodded at Javier and then looked down at her paper. “Your father hasn’t left yet, Patricio. When he goes, I will fix your breakfast.”
“Oh, okay. Then I’ll show Javier where we can paint. Come on, Javier.”
He followed Pat out of the kitchen, feeling strangely out of place in this family’s house. He wanted to ask Pat why his mother didn’t cook until after his father left but caught himself thinking too much like his mother with all her questions. They had just arrived back at the stairs when a thin man with wide shoulders came down. He was dressed in white slacks and a light green golf shirt. He stopped when he saw Pat and Javier. His sudden frown was identical to one Javier had seen on Feliz’s face. The man had her skin tone and the same light brown eyes.
“Can’t you and your friend find something presentable to wear? I know it’s Saturday, but you don’t have to look like you wear the same clothes you sleep in, Son.”
“Dad, this is my friend, Javier Ávila. I found out his dad might have built our house. Do you know if Marc Ávila built this place?”
His father sighed. “I don’t keep track of the trade workers who come and go. I do business with architects and engineers.” He nodded at Javier. “I’m sure your father is a very handy man. It’ll be good if you can learn his trade, Son.” He raised his wrist and looked at an expensive-looking gold watch. “I’ve got to go. I’m golfing with the mayor this morning.” He walked through the living room and disappeared.
Pat let out a long breath. “Good, he’s gone. My mom can start cooking now. We can go inside the garage after I know he’s had time to leave.”
If Ávila humor confused Pat, then it was the Berlanga chill factor that perplexed Javier. He had never seen a family like this. Sure, his big sisters demanded a lot of attention, and finding something in common with his older brothers was hard, but they always asked Javier about his schoolwork and came for his birthday parties. Even all the teasing among them was loving and affectionate. Why was Pat’s family so different?
When they returned to the kitchen, Mrs. Berlanga had folded up the newspaper and walked toward the refrigerator, coffee cup in hand.
“Do you drink coffee?” she asked Javier.
“No. Do you have milk?”
“We only have skim. Pat, get your friend a glass of milk.” After that, Mrs. Berlanga didn’t say another word to either of them. She stood at the stove and scrambled eggs with corn tortillas, peppers, onions, and tomatoes that smelled delicious. Meanwhile Javier asked more about the paints they would use for the backdrop and Pat described what he had in mind using a refrigerator box he had found on the curb in front of a new house down the road.
When Mrs. Berlanga set a steaming platter in the middle of the table and only two plates, Javier wondered again about the Berlangas as a family unit.
“Thank you, Mrs. Berlanga,” Javier said automatically. She said, “You’re welcome,” and left the room with her coffee cup.
“This looks great.” Pat reached for the platter. He served himself generously.
“Your mom doesn’t eat breakfast?”
“She’s always on a diet. Her breakfasts come in the mail.” He handed the platter to Javier. “Go for it! My mom’s a good cook.”
“Shouldn’t we save something for Feliz and Brittany?”
“All I ever see Feliz eat is cereal that looks like seeds and twigs with berry yogurt,” Pat said. “Take as much as you want, Javier.”
Javier watched Feliz walk Brittany to a long maroon car and wave as it drove away. Then she wandered toward the side room off the garage set up with a rack for garden tools, a riding lawnmower, and wide cabinet where the paints were stored. This was the place where Javier and Pat had sliced through the cardboard with box cutters and had primed the cardboard with white paint. All the windows and the two sliding wood doors leading to the back yard were open for ventilation, making the work a sweaty mess and the room hot and uncomfortable. They were taking a break, sitting on the cement ramp and drinking cold water from plastic bottles that Pat had brought from the house.
Javier knew he had paint on his face. His clothes clung to him with sweat, and his legs were dusted with cardboard shavings. Could he look any worse around a pretty girl?
“Do you have some pictures you want me to follow?” Feliz looked tanned and neat as she stepped up to the white cardboard and gave it a once-over. She wore tight red shorts and a tie-dyed tank top that outlined her curves.
Oh man! It took a moment for Javier to trust his voice. “I found an image on the Internet the other night. It was a silhouette of the major city buildings.”
She nodded. “That’ll work. We’re lucky San Antonio has an easy outline.” She turned back to Javier and her lips opened with a smile. “Are you an artist?”
“I can paint a wall.” Javier chuckled to himself. “I don’t think I’d call that art.”
Feliz nodded and then wiped her hand across her forehead. “It’s way too hot to sketch out here. Pat, why don’t you and Javier carry the cardboard into the garden room? Then I can draw without sweating. I’ll get my laptop and meet you guys in there.”
Javier watched Feliz walk away, knowing her swinging hips and the bounce of her curly ponytail would haunt his dreams for the next year.
“Hey, stop staring at my sister and help me carry this cardboard,” Pat said, standing up. He tossed his empty bottle into a green recycling box near the lawnmower.
Javier stood up but avoided his friend’s eyes. “Sure. Tell me what to do next.”
“Do you want the truth?”
“What?” That’s when Javier looked at Pat directly.
“I know you like my sister, and she talks to you like a real person, so that’s good.” Pat shrugged. “You’re a smart guy, so impress her that way. She goes for intelligence so she can look smart too.” He turned around and said, “Okay, let’s hope this cardboard is dry by now.”
The two of them carried the white cardboard down the ramp and across the grass to the back yard patio and deck. They walked past a shimmering swimming pool, a large brick grill, and wrought-iron deck furniture. They went through sliding glass doors that led to an enclosed room filled with plants and wall-to-wall windows. The floor was Mexican tile, and the white wicker chairs and wide ceiling fans gave the room a sense of tropical paradise. Best of all, the room was air-conditioned.
Once they leaned the cardboard against one set of windows, Javier felt way too dirty to be inside and asked for directions to the nearest bathroom. As he looked into the bathroom mirrors, and saw the paint dots across his face and the sweaty clumps of brown hair, he knew he was a lost cause. Still, he washed his face and used some water to smooth down his hair bef
ore he returned to Feliz in the garden room.
For the next hour, the three of them made a surprising good trio of workers. Javier stayed on the laptop, finding several city outlines on advertisements that Feliz could copy. Then he moved to the school Web site to get images of the buildings. She sketched what she saw onto the white cardboard while Pat decided what paints he would use. They made small talk, laughed when someone made a mistake, and discussed color and shading, making the whole job seem interesting and fun.
Some time later Feliz tossed the pencil down on the table. “I think I’m done here. The rest is up to you two.” She stretched her arms above her head.
Javier tried not to stare at the tanned belly button peeking out between her shirt and shorts. “Th—thanks for all your help, Feliz.”
Before she left, she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. “You owe me some chemistry help, Javier. I’ll be calling you!”
He should have grinned happily with the thought of a phone call from Feliz. Instead, he gave a phony smile to hide his worries about teaching her a science he was only learning himself this year. For the first time all day, his feet began to itch like crazy.
After they carried the whiteboard back to the garage, Pat began to show Javier how to use an airbrush. It took several false starts before they got the right pressure on the trigger and the best distance from the board.
“Pat, I’m going to screw this up,” he said, feeling a slight tremble in his hand.
“No, you won’t, Javier,” he replied and lightly sprayed a thin blue streak above the sketches Feliz had drawn. “The great thing about airbrushes is that you work in layers. We’ll paint the sky first. If you mess up, the next layer of black will cover it up.”
The F Factor Page 9